


The One On The Train

by mugglegirl



Series: Five times Ian Asks Mickey out, One Time He Doesn't [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, train meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2649995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugglegirl/pseuds/mugglegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meeting on the train AU. Mickey is late to work, only half dressed, and not prepared for the hottie on the L.<br/>(I just really wanted disheveled Mickey and flirty Ian taking advantage of the situation.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One On The Train

The first time Mickey sees him; he feels the familiar jolt of color travel to his face in embarrassment. Mickey is running late on this fine morning. Really late. Missed-the-first-bus, still-buttoning-up-your-shirt-with-one-shoe-on-and-one-under-your-armpit late. There Mickey stands, a mess in every aspect, hair and teeth alike unbrushed, clothes undone, and dignity falling to his feet; and there, right ahead of him, sits the literal embodiment of put-togetherness.

It’s hard to miss someone like him, really. He could have spotted that fire-red hair a mile away. Mickey recognizes the man the instant he lays eyes on him. Ian Gallagher, dressed in dark, tight _,_ _unnecessarily_ tight, jeans and a green sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair was brushed back neatly (elegantly? Definitely elegantly. How do you even make hair elegant? Hell if Mickey knew) as he glared down at his phone determinedly.

Living in a place like the South Side meant knowing about the Gallagher’s. Their stories preceded them. He grew up hearing about their senseless adventures and numerous infractions with the law, but he never met them.

Mickey _knows_ though _._ That, right there, sitting next to the only open seat on the train is none other than Ian Gallagher. He’s seen his picture in the yearbooks; remembers his sister Mandy pointing him out and groaning because she was a sophmore and he was a senior and “ _how am I supposed to get into his pants if he doesn’t even know I exist?”_ He remembers his mild surprise at the actual existence of the Gallagher’s, that they were not, after all, simply an enigma created to give the South Side kids like him hope.

He also remembers juvie hardly two weeks into his freshman year and repeating the 9th grade twice.

Mickey has definitely been standing frozen in the middle of the walkway for too long. A few people glance at him worriedly. He lets out a tiny huff of frustration before lumbering towards the empty seat.

Ian, still staring down at his phone with intent, glances up as Mickey comes closer; does a double take so hard his right earphone is yanked out of his ear.

“Oh, shit.” Ian mumbles.

Mickey frowns, he hesitates a moment, unsure of whether the seat was worth what was undoubtedly to come.

He’d rather sit though, especially after running across the street in his condition. “I don’t look that bad, do I?” He asks, tries to sound like he’s joking.

Ian shakes his head immediately, eyes wide.

Mickey nods as he takes his seat and leans down to put on his other shoe. He hopes he looks more intimidating then he feels.

“You, uh, look familiar.”

Mickey glances up at that, gives what he hopes is a look of disbelief before pulling at his laces one last time and sitting up straight.

“Not likely,” he grunts. Instead of looking Ian in the eyes he begins to fumble with his _still_ unbuttoned shirt.

He can still feel Ian look at him- he’s not exactly trying to be subtle, so Mickey opts for pulling out his phone to keep his eyes from wandering. He’s never really been into social media so there isn’t much he can do. He clicks the mail icon and begins aimlessly scrolling through the unread spam emails that have collected over the years.

Hardly a minute passes before he can’t ignore Ian’s gaze anymore. He sighs quietly before chancing a glace in Ian’s directions only to finds him staring back in fascination.

“The fuck you lookin’ at?” Mickey asks. He can feel his eyebrows crawling up his face, but Ian is undeterred.

“You’re a Milkovich!” Ian announces suddenly, smile taking over his face. “It’s the uh…” He points at Mickey’s knuckles and Mickey looks down at the tattoos with confusion.

“Your brother, Terry? Had the same tatts. He was in my class. Well, when he came to class. Plus, your sister tried to sleep with me once.”

Mickey cannot help but let out a snort at that. Ian’s voice is welcoming and he finds himself wanting to hear it more.

“She sleeps with a lota people.” He answers

“Nah,” Ian shakes his head, smile still wide, “I didn’t sleep with her. Threatened to send the _infamous Mickey Milkovich_ after me when I didn’t put out.”

He says his name slowly, with intent. It’s clear he knows this is the Milkovich his sister was talking about and Mickey feels at ease with the way his name sounds on Ian’s lips. Frankly, his comfort worries him.

“Well, I was in juvie for most of my high school career so you had nothing to worry about.”

He tries to sound intimidating, doesn’t know what’s gotten into him but Ian is still smiling widely at him and Mickey already knows he’s fucked.

“I’m Ian, by the way. Ian Gallagher.” He extends a hand expectantly.

Mickey looks down at his hand and then back up, eyebrows arched. Instead of shaking his hand he says, “I know.”

At Ian’s look of smug surprise, Mickey schools his facial expression into what he hopes is a look of mild annoyance. “It’s hard not to notice you,” he continues, “with that undying fire on top of your head.”

Ian grins, drops his hand to his lap and turns to face Mickey more comfortably. He acts too casual for a stranger and Mickey can’t decide how to react to him. 

He’s about to say something rude when a loud grating noise interrupts him. The train violently jolts back and everyone is thrust forward momentarily and then back harshly. Ian’s arms flail in search for support before his left hand lands on Mickey’s chest, pushing him back into his seat with considerable force and sending Mickeys phone flying out of his hands as the train settles.

When the train finally comes to a complete stop, several standing passengers have been thrown to the floor. Mickey looks down wearily at Ian’s hand where it is still pressing down on his shirt. When Ian doesn’t move it immediately, Mickey lets out what he hopes is a disgruntled sound. It sounds more like a whine.

“Fuck” Ian groans, he pulls his hands away and stands to grab the fallen phone. Mickey does not stare when he kneels down. He does no such thing.

“Oh…” Ian says as he straightens slowly, turns around with a horrified look on his face, “I am so, _so_ sorry,” he begins.

Mickey stares confusedly at Ian for a moment before his eye’s drop to Ian’s hands…. More precisely, the phone in his hands. _Mickey’s_ phone. Which is cracked down the middle. Which is blinking black and blue. _Fuck._ Mickey is not sure if what’s building up inside him is anger or anxiety. He want’s to yell, it’s what he’s used to after all.

“ _Fuck my life,”_ He mumbles instead, opts for putting his head in his hands and sighing loudly.

When too many seconds pass without Mickey saying anything, Ian starts again. “I will pay for this. I will. Look, give me your numb…” He stops when Mickey looks up, “Okay, you can’t do that. Um, I will pay for it though. How much do you want? How much does it cost? Fuck,” He runs a hand through his hair, shifts from foot to foot, “This is not a good first impression.”

Mickey laughs at that, finally straightening up. It’s really not that big of a deal because the phone is paid for by the company. They should fix it for him for free if he can convince the tech guy that it wasn’t his fault. It’s just going to be a hell of a weak before they can give it back to him. He glances again at Ian who is still looking down at the phone forlornly and decides he won’t tell him just yet.

“It’s fine,” he says, extending his hand expectantly.

Ian looks up; his green eyes are the embodiment of pity. He gingerly places the phone in Mickey’s hand and takes his seat again.

“I am so fucking sorry…” He starts again. Mickey looks up at him, tries to school an expression of sadness onto his face.

“My boss is going to kill me but at least I can blame it on the train.” Mickey tells him.

Ian still looks horrified but he smiles lightly at that and shakes his head, “Seriously, just call me if you have to pay for it and I’ll give you the money okay?”

Ian reaches under his seat and pulls out a leather satchel. He plunges into it with a look of determination and comes up with a sharpie.

“Always knew I’d end up needing this,” He says, holding the sharpie in his hand proudly.

“Here, give me your arm,” Ian tells him, gesturing with his hands.

Mickey raises his eyebrows at him in disbelief, “Uh, I don’t think so.” He says, shaking his head and unconsciously pulling his arms closer to his body.

“You got anything else I can write on then?” Ian asks, raising his eyebrows back in retaliation.

When Mickey doesn’t answer, Ian huffs impatiently as he uncaps the marker and grabs Mickey’s left arm.

Mickey lets out an undignified yelp, “Wha-Hey! Stop tha-” but it’s too late, Ian has the sharpie cap in between his teeth and has already begun to determinedly scribble his number across the expanse of Mickey’s forearm in big lettering.

“For fucks sake…” Mickey grumbles, “It really don’t gotta be that big.”

Ian grins up at him from where he is bent over Mickey’s arm, “Just incase, you know.”

When Ian finishes, he pats his handiwork with pride and smiles proudly at Mickey. Mickey doesn’t look down at the number because he isn’t going to call Ian anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.

“What the fucks up with the train?” He asks instead.

Ian shrugs, “It’s gotta break down at least once a day or else it’s not really the L is it?”

Mickey groans in frustration because Ian is right. _Of course_ the one day he is late for work the L would break down on him.

He’s about to get up to look for someone to complain to when there’s another grating noise and train slowly begins to move forward again.

“Thank fuck,” He mumbles and Ian snorts next to him.

The rest of the ride is silent; Ian’s phone is ringing with texts every thirty seconds and he grumbles about work as he dutifully taps away on the screen. The next stop is Mickey’s, thank god, because he’s not sure how much longer he can sit there without doing something stupid. The minute the train stops, Mickey stands up eagerly.

Ian finally looks away from his phone and up at him, “You’re getting off?” he asks.

“Uh yeah,” he says, shifting awkwardly. He doesn’t know if he should wave or smile or do anything at all. Stupid boys. Stupid redheaded boys.

“See you around, I guess.” He mumbles.

Ian grins at him “Yeah, call me. About the phone.”

-

Once Mickey is safely away from the train station he finally allows himself to look down at his arm. Under the number and in smaller writing, Ian had scribbled his name and followed it with _“THE L HOTTIE”_ in parenthesis.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> comment if you want more! I might turn this into a verse.  
> I'm on [tumblr](http://wallahibro.tumblr.com)!


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